


Sick Day

by split_n_splice



Category: Kim Possible (Cartoon)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-04
Updated: 2020-11-04
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:20:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27386335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/split_n_splice/pseuds/split_n_splice
Summary: Takes place during the episode "Sick Day" because I had to wonder:How did Drakken get sick too?
Relationships: Dr. Drakken/Shego (Kim Possible)
Kudos: 20





	Sick Day

**Author's Note:**

> From my _The Company You Keep_ timeline to experiment with where they stand by the time we see them in the show, because I'm of the (unpopular?) opinion they were The Old Married Couple. lol

Drakken slammed the phone down for the second time that day and slumped in his chair, fingers drumming on the desk. His lips pursed as he glowered at the phone, debating between calling across the lair and making the walk.

Towards her, Shego found him insensitive and cold enough on his good days. Often she swore she preferred it that way, even if he didn’t always feel the need to uphold it so stringently. He could get soft and sweet like a marshmallow _after_ he’d accomplished their collective goal, she’d remind him, because villainy wasn’t for the mushy.

Despite the rift, Drakken found himself pacing back through the lair. In their own private wing, he paused as he passed by the kitchen doorway, stealing a glance in.

The kitchen was no different than any other cavern in the lair, except for the homey kitchen necessities and a sorry cloth-covered card table that sufficed for their dining table, which Shego was slumped over now, nursing a tall glass of cocoa moo. She shivered, bundling up tighter in her green robe. She hadn’t brushed her hair today. It didn’t look like she’d washed it either, sticking up in places and twisted into clumps, certainly from tossing and turning in restless sleep.

Just as Drakken tiptoed closer, she brought a tissue to her nose and blew it like an elephant before gasping and taking another big gulp of cocoa moo. She jolted and swore when his hand rested on her shoulder. “Milk isn’t going to help that stuffy nose, Shego,” he warned. That’s what his mother always told him, anyway.

“Did I ask for advice?” she grumbled up at him, shrugging his hand off.

He pulled off a glove to feel her burning forehead, ignoring the low noise of objection she made. “Have you taken any—?”

_“Yes.”_

Drakken grunted. He tossed both gloves down on the table and shed his lab coat to stand in the scrubs beneath before turning for the cabinets. “Hungry?” he piped, pulling out a can of condensed chicken noodle soup. A glance over his shoulder, and he saw Shego’s eyes roll and her lip curl before she began coughing violently into her crumpled tissue. Of course. She was too good for soup from a can. What was he thinking?

He rolled his own eyes as he moved to the refrigerator instead to take inventory, turning a deaf ear to his accomplice hacking to clear her throat. Between just them in the privacy of shared living quarters, she didn’t have such a pristine image to uphold. Still, it was unusual to see her sick. Some occasional manageable allergies, maybe food poisoning, but the cold or flu was rare. A robust immune system was a perk of being superhuman, she’d once told him while hunched over a porcelain throne as he’d held her hair back.

Drakken swallowed a lump and his eyes darted across to Shego standing up and knocking back the last of her chilly cocoa moo. He swore he saw steam rise on her breath, just as he swore he could see a faint feverish glow to her skin where she’d opened up her top to cool her chest.

“Killigan is on his way,” he blurted as the woman turned to leave. She paused in the doorway, almost glancing back. Drakken fidgeted and shifted foot to foot. “Uhm. So. Just a heads up. Maybe button up your shirt a little.” The last thing he needed with this Killigan situation was the man getting an eyeful of certain parts of Shego’s anatomy.

She gave a weary sigh and buttoned up the top three buttons she’d had popped open amidst the hot and cold flashes of her fever. “M’going back to bed,” she announced hoarsely, instead of asking why the Scotsman was coming over. He didn’t think to explain. She’d just get upset he was replacing her for a few days to keep world domination plans moving along.

Once Shego was out of the room, Drakken glanced about for the little-used kitchen telephone. Usually when he picked it up, it was to give his own mother a call for a little cooking advice or to beg a recipe out of her. This morning, his thumb punched in a sequence he was strictly forbidden to dial. He wasn’t even supposed to know it really, as Shego preferred staying estranged from her family.

There was a small commotion as the call was answered, and Drakken swore he could feel the loathing radiating through the telephone. “Lipsky?” ground out the woman as if the name he was born under was something vile.

He tried to pay it no mind. “Shilo is—”

_“Arrested?”_

Drakken flinched. “Wh—no! She has a _cold,_ or the flu, or something,” he explained quickly, frustration aside.

“It’s going around,” noted the woman on the line. “What about it?”

“I was just…wondering? About comfort foods she may like?” he asked, innocently enough.

“You’ve been together how many years now, and you don’t know—”

He interrupted her criticism. “Are you going to help me help her or aren’t you?” he bit back.

“Chicken noodle soup.”

“I offered her Campbell’s—”

_“Homemade,”_ sighed the judgmental woman. “She really loved the bowtie pasta when she was little. And a little celery – but not too crunchy. Crimp-cut carrots. Not too thick. Not too much salt. Chicken thigh, if you have it…” He should have taken notes, but he settled for nodding along and dedicating the details to memory. “I’m sure you can figure it out. I know you’re good in the kitchen.”

His brow furrowed. “How did you—?”

“She told me. It was one of the homebody things she loved about you.” _Past tense._

His shoulders fell with the pang of guilt. He still cooked for his partner, sometimes. Not as much as he probably should have. Too many nights now, they made separate meals and ate alone.

Drakken wasted no time. With a deep breath, he pushed off from the counter and began the hunt through the kitchen for necessities for chicken noodle soup up to par with Shego’s standards.

A while later, he held a hot bowl atop a potholder and was rapping gently on Shego’s bedroom door, hating it a little that she had her own bedroom these days at all. Everyone needed their own space though, he rationalized.

She’d almost gone to bed with him last night, her mood lightened by the successful heist of Ray-X, but he’d barely laid hands on her scorching skin when she’d sighed and slumped forward against him, bringing activities to a sudden standstill. He should have noticed she’d been burning up more so than usual then, but he’d been a little too distracted to realize the change. She’d kissed his cheek, apologized halfheartedly, and given him a “not tonight” before slipping out of his room, leaving Drakken a little miffed at getting worked up just to be left.

If she _was_ sick, then maybe it was a good thing they hadn’t done more than a little necking last night, he decided as he opened up her door despite the lack of invitation. By the sounds of it, Shego could barely catch her breath between sneezes anyway.

A pile of tissues was already overflowing out of the wastebasket beside her chaise lounge. Shego sat bundled like a big teal burrito in her thickest blanket, sniffling as Drakken approached from the side, hopefully out of the line of fire.

“I brought you something,” he informed, braced for the moment her dangerous eyes cut up to him for intruding.

Instead of snapping at him, she carefully crawled out of her cocoon, just barely. Enough to poke her hands out and accept the hot bowl Drakken offered down to her. Hunched forward with the bowl balanced between knees and chest, she stared into the bowl suspiciously like some sort of little hermit tea-reading witch.

He took a small shifting of her feet to be an invitation, and came to perch at the end of the chair. “Hope it’s up to snuff,” he muttered as the ill critic stirred her soup.

“I can’t sniff,” she informed, nose noticeably stuffed up, though he supposed her ears might be muffled too. She tried to take a whiff off the steam anyway before taking a sip, and Drakken felt just a little better to hear her pleasant hum. At least she’d stopped sneezing and coughing long enough to slurp down half the bowl in a few big gulps. She gasped for air then and poked around at the noodles with her spoon. “You made this?”

He grunted in confirmation.

“S’good.”

Drakken let his eyes wander up from watching his feet to take in her room he infrequently got a glimpse of. It was quite bare. The essentials. A big wooden wardrobe, a nice dresser with vanity mirror, and an actual bed across the room from her chaise lounge where she preferred to spend her personal downtime reading or manicuring her nails.

“More?” Shego rasped, and his eyes darted back to her holding out the empty bowl with a hopeful puppydog pout. Drakken complied, a small smile brought to his lips at her mousey, “Love you.”

“Now you’re just being a kiss-up,” he said with a withering frown that didn’t last long.

Between bites and slurps from her second helping, Shego paused to stare at her spoon, as if something had only now occurred to her. Her eyes flicked up to Drakken. He could see it in the reflection of the vanity mirror as he stood before her dresser inspecting the scarce few family photographs she’d yet to destroy.

“Just like Mom used to make,” she muttered. “How’d you know?” Her eyes were suspicious now as they met his through the reflection.

“Lucky guess,” Drakken dismissed. She was liable to fly off the handle if he admitted he’d called her mother for suggestion. He was about to take his leave when Shego held the bowl out toward him.

“I’m not hungry anymore.” Considering how much she’d already downed and how quickly, it was believable, but Drakken knew better than to think it was simply because she was full.

He didn’t argue it though, opting to merely take the bowl and go. “Get some rest,” he said over his shoulder.

As he was walking down the hall, he didn’t think twice about raising the bowl to his lips to take a sip of the leftover soup. He really should have though, but hindsight had a funny way of sneaking up behind a person.

In no time at all, he was a sneezing feverish mess, only unlike Shego and her superhuman health, he wouldn’t be getting over it within a 24 hour period.


End file.
